Lost Slumbers

When 8pm enshrouds itself
in shades of winter's lingering dawn,
the dominance of days of June
shines light upon a dimness drawn.

Too lagged and dragged,
this mind has been,
spread thin across our blue lagoon,
and passed away in golden slumbers...
 

a restless rest assessed too soon.
 

For in this light of day I mourn,
a morn my orbs have come to swoon.
Though strained and pained, they spot an eight,
without the rays of night time's moon.
 

Twelve hours lost to the blink of an eye,
in the fleeting lights of the nights of June.